The Complete Works of Arthur Morrison (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison

Miss Garth as he had promised. Half an hour later he came to Hewitt in the study, more puzzled than ever.

      “There’s no engagement between them,”‘he reported, “secret or open, nor ever has been. It seems, from what I can make out, going to work as diplomatically as possible, that Mellis did propose to her, or something very near it, a time ago, and was point-blank refused. Altogether, Miss Garth’s sentiment for him appears to be rather dislike than otherwise.”

      “That rather knocks a hole in the theory of self-sacrifice, doesn’t it?” Hewitt remarked. “I shall have to think over this, and sleep on it. It’s possible that it may be necessary to-morrow for you to tax Miss Garth, point-blank, with having taken away the will. Still, I hope not.”

      “I hope not, too,” Mr. Crellan said, rather dubious as to the result of such an experiment. “She has been quite upset enough already. And, by the bye, she didn’t seem any the better or more composed after Mellis’ visit this morning.”

      “Still, then the will was gone.”

      “Yes.”

      And so Hewitt and Mr. Crellan talked on late into the evening, turning over every apparent possibility and finding reason in none. The household went to bed at ten, and, soon after, Miss Garth came to bid Mr. Crellan good-night. It had been settled that both Martin Hewitt and Mr. Crellan should stay the night at Wedbury Hall.

      Soon all was still, and the ticking of the tall clock in the hall below could be heard as distinctly as though it were in the study, while the rain without dropped from eaves and sills in regular splashes. Twelve o’clock struck, and Mr. Crellan was about to suggest retirement, when the sound of a light footstep startled Hewitt’s alert ear. He raised his hand to enjoin silence, and stepped to the door of the room, Mr. Crellan following him.

      There was a light over the staircase, seven or eight yards away, and down the stairs came Miss Garth in dressing gown and slippers; she turned at the landing and vanished in a passage leading to the right.

      “Where does that lead to?” Hewitt whispered hurriedly.

      “Toward the small staircase — other end of house,” Mr. Crellan replied in the same tones.

      “Come quietly,” said Hewitt, and stepped lightly after Miss Garth, Mr. Crellan at his heels.

      She was nearing the opposite end of the passage, walking at a fair pace and looking neither to right nor left. There was another light over the smaller staircase at the end. Without hesitation Miss Garth turned down the stairs till about half down the flight, and then stopped and pressed her hand against the oak wainscot.

      Immediately the vertical piece of framing against which she had placed her hand turned on central pivots top and bottom, revealing a small recess, three feet high and little more than six inches wide. Miss Garth stooped and felt about at the bottom of this recess for several seconds. Then with every sign of extreme agitation and horror she withdrew her hand empty, and sank on the stairs. Her head rolled from side to side on her shoulders, and beads of perspiration stood on her forehead. Hewitt with difficulty restrained Mr. Crellan from going to her assistance.

      Presently, with a sort of shuddering sigh, Miss Garth rose, and after standing irresolute for a moment, descended the flight of stairs to the bottom. There she stopped again, and pressing her hand to her forehead, turned and began to re-ascend the stairs.

      Hewitt touched his companion’s arm, and the two hastily but noiselessly made their way back along the passage to the study. Miss Garth left the open framing as it was, reached the top of the landing, and without stopping proceeded along the passage and turned up the main staircase, while Hewitt and Mr. Crellan still watched her from the study door.

      At the top of the flight she turned to the right, and up three or four more steps toward her own room. There she stopped, and leaned thoughtfully on the handrail.

      “Go up,” whispered Hewitt to Mr. Crellan, “as though you were going to bed. Appear surprised to see her; ask if she isn’t well, and, if you can, manage to repeat that question of mine about secret hiding-places in the house.”

      Mr. Crellan nodded and started quickly up the stairs. Half-way up he turned his head, and, as he went on, “Why, Nelly, my dear,” he said, “what’s the matter? Aren’t you well?”

      Mr. Crellan acted his part well, and waiting below, Hewitt heard this dialogue:

      “No, uncle, I don’t feel very well, but it’s nothing. I think my room seems close. I can scarcely breathe.”

      “Oh, it isn’t close to-night. You’ll be catching cold, my dear. Go and have a good sleep; you mustn’t worry that wise little head of yours, you know. Mr. Hewitt and I have been making quite a night of it, but I’m off to bed now.”

      “I hope they’ve made you both quite comfortable, uncle?”

      “Oh, yes; capital, capital. We’ve been talking over business, and, no doubt, we shall put that matter all in order soon. By the bye, I suppose since you saw Mr. Hewitt you haven’t happened to remember anything more to tell him?”

      “No.”

      “You still can’t remember any hiding-places or panels, or that sort of thing in the wainscot or anywhere?”

      “No, I’m sure I don’t know of any, and I don’t believe for a moment that any exist.”

      “Quite sure of that, I suppose?”

      “Oh yes.”

      “All right. Now go to bed. You’ll catch such a cold in these draughty landings. Come, I won’t move a step till I see your door shut behind you. Good-night.”

      “Good-night, uncle.”

      Mr. Crellan came downstairs again with a face of blank puzzlement.

      “I wouldn’t have believed it,” he assured Martin Hewitt; “positively I wouldn’t have believed she’d have told such a lie, and with such confidence, too. There’s something deep and horrible here, I’m afraid. What does it mean?”

      “We’ll talk of that afterwards,” Hewitt replied. “Come now and take a look at that recess.”

      They went, quietly still, to the small staircase and there, with a candle, closely examined the recess. It was a mere box, three feet high, a foot or a little more deep, and six or seven inches wide. The piece of oak framing, pivoted to the stair at the bottom and to a horizontal piece of framing at the top, stood edge forward, dividing the opening down the centre. There was nothing whatever in the recess.

      Hewitt ascertained that there was no catch, the plank simply remaining shut by virtue of fitting tightly, so that nothing but pressure on the proper part was requisite to open it. He had closed the plank and turned to speak to Mr. Crellan, when another interruption occurred.

      On each floor the two staircases were joined by passages, and the ground-floor passage, from the foot of the flight they were on, led to the entrance hall. Distinct amid the loud clicking of the hall clock, Hewitt now heard a sound, as of a person’s foot shifting on a stone step.

      Mr. Crellan heard it too, and each glanced at the other. Then Hewitt, shading the candle with his hand, led the way to the hall. There they listened for several seconds — almost an hour — it seemed — and then the noise was repeated. There was no doubt of it. It was at the other side of the front door.

      In answer to Hewitt’s hurried whispers, Mr. Crellan assured him that there was no window from which, in the dark, a view could be got of a person standing outside the door. Also that any other way out would be equally noisy, and would entail the circuit of the house. The front door was fastened by three heavy bolts, an immense old-fashioned lock, and a bar. It would take nearly a minute to open at least, even if everything went easily. But, as there was no other way, Hewitt determined to try it. Handing the candle to his companion, he first lifted the bar, conceiving that it might be done